Quoth the Raven: Oops, (We) Did It Again!
by The General G of K
Summary: Or, four times Castle and Beckett accidentally made-out.
1. In the Beginning

**Quoth the Raven: Oops, (We) Did It Again!**

_By: _The General

**Pairings:** Castle/Beckett  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If I owned any of this, fan fiction would be a much more fiscally sound endeavor for me.  
><strong>Description: <strong>Or, four times Castle and Beckett accidentally made-out.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>PG-13 at the worst  
><strong>Description: <strong> Okay, full disclosure: I am about a season and a half behind on this show, so when I developed this premise, it was designed to take place before Castle proposed, before their TV-shattering, S4 kiss, etc. Initially, this was supposed to be all in one-shot, but due to length, I decided to upload it in chapters. Alas, fear not! I already have the first three scenarios written out, and they'll be posted shortly.

**_i. in the beginning_**

"_Castle!_" Beckett shouted over the volley of gunfire aimed in their direction. From what he could hear of it, Castle decided her tone sounded much more annoyed than angry at this point. "I thought I told you to get the hell out of here _before_ they started shooting!"

She quickly fired off a couple rounds before once again crouching behind cover (this time a poker table with a surprisingly thick layer of hard oak) beside him. When Castle signed on to tail Beckett, he never imagined death—_his_ death—would happen only a few weeks in. Especially not at the hands of New York's deadliest, Italian crime family, who happened to be brandishing automatic weapons. It was all _so _Mario Puzo.

"Well, I'm sure as hell—" He ducked, a few bullets grazing and splintering the table overhead. "—not going to _while_ they're shooting. That would be suicide!"

Beckett's shoulders sank, and she may have uttered something like _"If only"_ before loading another clip into her Glock, but he couldn't read her lips well enough.

Soon thereafter, a ceasefire occurred, but before Castle could peek around their cover to see if the room had cleared, Beckett pinned him back against the green felt of the table with a splayed hand planted firmly against his chest.

"Detective Beckett," came the thickly accented voice of the family's head honcho, "your behavior up until this point has been both predictable and, quite frankly, disappointing. Fortunately, for you, I am a very forgiving man."

"Forgiving, maybe, but you're clearly not too bright, Mr. Garcetti," Beckett conceded, her tone even. "Otherwise, you would know that as a cop and a female, I have an incredibly low tolerance for men who abuse power to prey on the weak. Fortunately for you, I'm an excellent shot."

All at once, the gunfire started up again.

"In retrospect," Castle suggested, flinching every time a bullet whizzed close by, "maybe insulting a mob boss with an automatic weapon wasn't your best idea ever." Beckett ignored him, eyes on a shard of glass from a broken scotch bottle she was using to aim better. Her hand was still on his chest. "I told you," he continued, doing his full on Brando impression, "we should have '_given him an offer he couldn't refuse.'_"

That captured Beckett's attention. She turned her head to face him, a frown plastered on it. "_Really_, Castle? We're about to get killed, and all you can do is butcher quotes from _The Godfather_?"

Castle's face fell. Suddenly, he lost any urge to laugh. He desperately searched her expression for any hint of joking. "You really think we're going to _die_ here?" he asked, unable to hide the desperation he was suddenly feeling.

Beckett didn't seem to notice. "Maybe." She briefly glanced at the shard of glass again. "I don't know." She fired off four rounds before glancing back at him. "Probably," she admitted angrily, "if Espo and Ryan don't show up with back up some time soon."

_Oh no,_ Castle groaned. He briefly wondered if Beckett could feel how fast his heart was slamming against his silk clad chest. Then he briefly wondered if Beckett's heart was beating just as fast as his and whether or not he would be able to feel it if he pressed his hand against her chest. His thoughts became less coherent after that.

"_LAST CHANCE, DETECTIVE BECKETT!_"

"Do your _worst_, Garcetti!" she growled. "I've got at least a hundred badges comin' any minute, and I would love to slap an attempted murder and a misdemeanor charge on top a' those racketeering and illegal firearm possession charges you and your boys have racked up."

Castle made a mental note to flash back on some of Beckett's dialogue when he continued writing _Naked Heat _ again. _If_, he thought to himself grimly, _if I continue writing; if I'm not dead_. He admired how well Beckett handled herself. At the first sign of chaos, she immediately took charge, brow furrowed and lips set in a firm line. If he weren't too busy feeling entirely inadequate in comparison, he would have found it all incredibly _hot_. The real crime was that he would die without so much as skimming the possibility of first base with her.

"Castle," Beckett interrupted with a nudge to his shoulder, "you good?" To his surprising regret, she removed her hand from his chest. "Because I'm gonna need you to follow my lead _exactly_."

He nodded, his heart still erratic. If he was going to die, he should have just said it.

"Kate—" he began.

"—Yeah?"

"I—" _Oh, what the hell?_

Kissing Beckett, as cliche as it sounded, was way better than he imagined. Partly because after her initial shock, she actually responded, but mostly because they would have _continued_ kissing if it hadn't been for Ryan, Esposito, and what appeared to be the rest of the 12th precinct barging into the place, shouting, "FREEZE, NYPD! PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN AND YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"

Equal parts breathless, annoyed, and humiliated, Beckett lamented, "They meant the _mob guys_, Castle," as she swatted at his raised hands.


	2. That Time During A Stake Out

**ii. that time during a stake out**

_he keeps staring at u ...its kinda cute ;)_

Two hours into the stake out, and Beckett no longer had the strength to restrain the eyeroll that followed reading Lanie's text. There was nothing _cute_ about having Castle ride shotgun on this stake out, interrupting the closest thing to a girl's night out with Lanie Beckett had enjoyed in a long time. Though to be fair, more annoying than his constant tailing was her closest friend's insistent need to keep mentioning how . . . attractive he was, through text, nonetheless. Like they were in high school, and Castle was some heartthrob on the cover of _Teen Beat_.

To show her disapproval, she threw a glance back at Lanie that she hoped translated to _"I am not amused"_ and _"Shut up, Loser!"_ Thankfully, she had never mentioned that, erm . . . _incident_ to Lanie, or else the teasing would have been far more brutal.

"This is so _cool_," she could hear Castle fanboy to her right. He was surrounded by a multitude of processed snacks and soft drinks, as if their assignment was going to take weeks rather than hours. "My first real stake out. I feel like Mary Beth Lacey." He paused. "Well, give or take a couple divorces."

"Richard Castle, you cease to amaze me." Judging by the tone of her friend's voice, Beckett could tell Lanie was smiling. "I never pegged you for a fan! Though, let's be honest: my girl Cagney was where it was at."

"Never pegged me for a fan?" Castle wondered aloud before excitedly shifting in his seat to face her, his body contorting awkwardly, his seatbelt taut. "Are you kidding me? I loved that show! The character of Nikki Heat—in addition to being inspired by our mutual friend, the lovely Detective Beckett"—He flashed a grin in her direction, which made her insides feel decidedly . . . uncomfortable. Rather than acknowledge it, however, Beckett rolled her eyes and redirected her focus on the warehouse in their direct line of sight, checking the padlocked door for any kind of suspicious activity.—"was at least one third inspired by _Cagney and Lacey_."

"No kidding," Lanie muttered, falling back into her seat. The car fell into a comfortable silence, until, not two minutes later, Beckett felt her phone vibrate.

_he said lovely, _the message read when she glanced down at her phone, _gurl u have got 2 get ON that_.

_Shut it_, Beckett quickly fired back. Then she added (somewhat childishly), _If you like him so much, why don't you marry him?_

_dont have 2 marry him 2 get a taste of those soft lips n that sweet—_

"Please tell me you're screening the texts of a jilted ex-lover—"

Startled, Beckett snapped her phone shut, blushing at both being caught and at whatever Lanie had written. Thankfully, Castle's interruption had effectively cut off the message in its entirety. She would have a conversation with Lanie later about _appropriate _work texts.

"Castle"—She rolled her eyes and redirected her attention once again to the warehouse.

"—or you're actually working with the guys we're looking out for, and they just texted you the rendezvous time," he suggested.

"Good cop gone bad," Lanie piped up from the back seat, "I like it!" She reached over the armrest and helped herself to some Swedish Fish. "That sounds like a miniseries event on Showtime that they would air as a midseason replacement for some low ratings flop. They could even get that dude from _The Hunger Games_ to play her jilted ex-lover!"

Castle stared at her. "I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that that is probably the greatest idea I have ever heard," he told her from around a mouthful of Doritos.

"Guys, _quit it_—" Beckett chastised them jointly. Somethin' wasn't right. The sole light above the warehouse door flickered, and in the instance it turned back on, a hooded figure appeared. Rather than enter the building, however, it began walking toward their parked car.

"—oooh, or," Castle tried again, not surprisingly completely ignoring her request for silence, "_or_ it's your handler, and you're a sleeper agent, and the last message contained your activation word, like-like, 'Red Sun' or 'Miranda,' and you've been assigned to kill us both—and I-I can't tell if I'm more terrified or turned on because this means you're even more badass than before, which is just so . . . _cool!_ I mean—"

"_Castle, seriously_," Beckett hissed, grabbing his arm in the hopes to also grab his attention, "shut the hell up, and look at your two o'clock."

His gaze followed her pointed finger to the hooded figure who was fifteen—now ten—yards away. "Oh, shit," he blurted. His unfiltered thoughts seemed to echo hers exactly in that moment. "That has to be our perp. He's coming straight toward us! What do we do?"

_For starters_, she thought, _you could stop audibly narrating everything we already know_. Out loud, however, all she said was, "I don't know, Castle, I'm thinkin' here, alright?"

"Well, think faster," he suggested helpfully (not), craning his neck to get a better look at their unidentified person, "because he's practically on top of us."

It was telling that despite the fact that they were about to be approached by what could possibly be an armed criminal, Beckett was focusing all of her energy on not screaming in frustration at the incredible ignorance of her "partner." She tugged on his coat sleeve to pull him back from the car window. "Ugh, could you _be_ any more obvious? On second thought, don't answer that. And, yeah, Castle, I'm perfectly aware of the fact that an unidentified man is approaching this vehicle, and our cover'll be blown the second he gets a glimpse of us."

Lanie cleared her throat in the back seat. "There's not a chance he could be another cop assigned to tail this quadrant as well?" she suggested.

Beckett snorted, more out of nerves than anything. "You know of any badges strollin' around with ski masks on?"

Earlier, the perp's hood had blocked any visual on his face, but now that he was closer to the car, the nearest lamp post illuminated his face enough to show some kind of fabric obscuring most of his face. A ski mask was the most obvious conclusion. If only the three of them could obscure their faces as well. Or maybe just the two of them needed to.

Beckett scowled. She didn't like where her head was going with this plan, but it was all she had, and with the perp as close as he was, there really wasn't much time to argue.

She turned the ignition toward her so just the battery turned on and the radio blared to life. Over Castle's confused, "What the _hell?_" she demanded, "Lanie, I'm gonna need you to get as close to the ground back there as you possibly can. The idea is invisibility. Got it?"

Her friend's voice only wavered a little. "Got it."

She redirected her gaze to Castle and only then did she even tune in to what song was on the radio: Rhianna's _S&M_. Or at least, that's what Lanie would have said the song was called. Beckett wasn't exactly on the cutting edge of popular music, but even _she_ could pick up on the not exactly subtle sexual overtones of the song, and when she did, she could feel her whole face burn. She was half way tempted to switch the station, but they were quickly running out of time. It was now or never.

"Go left," she instructed of Castle before pulling him toward her by his lapels and allowing their mouths to collide.

As far as kisses went, it wasn't anywhere near perfect. In addition to their lips, Beckett's teeth clashed into Castle's initially, probably because he wasn't exactly expecting her to sexually assault him on the stake-out. And then, of course, the emergency brake kept jabbing into her hip because of how she was contorted over the console, making the overall experience decidedly uncomfortable. But once Castle figured out that she hadn't fallen on top of his mouth accidentally, and that by "_Go left_" she had meant for him to move his face to the left, they were both able to find a much more natural rhythm. And even though she knew this was all for show, (she had definitely been under cover before, thank you very much), she even allowed it when he slid his hands up the back of her thighs for purchase to help her cross over the console and over to his side, which she _only _did because that e-brake was going to cause her serious injury. Otherwise, Beckett was a total professional.

Although, when Castle was kissing her like that, it was difficult to remember whether or not she threw her arms around his neck in the throes of passion.

Either way, minutes passed—or maybe it was hours—before a sharp tapping at the window caused Beckett and Castle to jump apart. Beckett, who's heart was already racing for . . . reasons, took care to not look any more alarmed. She glanced at Castle briefly—heavy lids, mussed hair, enlarged pupils, she noticed somewhat pleased with her handiwork—before forcing a bored look and rolling the window down.

"What d'you want, perv?" she demanded of the assailant, who was brandishing a gun at both she and Castle. For some reason she had affected a Staten Island cadence to her speech: brash and ignorant is how she was going to play this, apparently. She prayed to God Castle wasn't going to play along. He was _terrible_ with accents or impressions of any kind.

"You guys following me?" he wanted to know. It was comforting to know his voice shook, if only the slightest bit. _Which means, _Beckett thought_, he's probably out here alone_.

Beckett forced a laugh, surprised anything came out considering the last thing she felt was joy. "Following you?" she repeated. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. We've been a little, uh, preoccupied, isn't that right, Babe?"

Castle took in her smile, exhaled a moment, and then turned toward the hooded assailant before smirking in what could only be described as a proud manner. "That's right . . . Annabel." He turned toward the perp. "See, I just proposed to her tonight—couldn't afford a ring, 'cause I'm trying to make it on Broadway—and she said yes, making me the happiest man in the world, and so after dinner we came to the dock to . . . park, seeing as how her parents don't exactly approve of our being together because—"

"—Honey," Beckett said a little gruffly. The hand she placed on his shoulder was starting to dig in through his jacket. "You don't need to bore the nice man pointing the gun with all those details. I'm sure he's got other people to threaten tonight."

"Hey, watch it," the perp warned, but it lacked any punch. He lowered his gun, and Beckett breathed a small sigh of relief when she heard the definitive _click_ of the safety being turned back on. "If you're not out of here in the next five minutes, I _will _kill you both," he promised.

Although Beckett was pretty sure he wouldn't do anything of the sort, she assured him, "We'll be outta here sooner than that. That's a promise."

And with that, she let Castle roll up the window while she crawled back over the console to the driver seat, where she turned the ignition on, and pulled out of the docks so quickly that the tires screeched. When she was certain they were a safe enough distance away, she told Lanie she could sit up again, and then she turned on Castle.

"_Annabel? _Seriously?!"

"What, I panicked!" Castle sounded put out, and if she wasn't mistaken, mildly annoyed. "All I could think of was the Edgar Allan Poe poem 'Annabel Lee.' I'm sorry I wasn't able to improvise better while staring down the _barrel of a gun!_"

Beckett was about to retort that he had no problem improvising their supposed engagement on the spot, but she was interrupted by the vibration of her phone.

_you certainly GOT IT gurl ;)_

Beckett felt her whole face go red. Rather than fiddling with her phone, she offered up a lame, "Shut it, Lanie."

What she got in response was stifled giggles from the back seat.

"Hold up," Castle ordered. "You've been texting _Lanie_ this whole time?"


	3. During A Line of Questioning

**iii. that time, much, much later, during a super important line of questioning**

"Of course I saw _Star Wars_ as a kid, Castle. Almost everyone did."

"Yes," Castle responded, still grasping at straws, his heart in his throat and his palms slick with sweat, "but did you like it?"

It was late. The 12th precinct had cleared out hours ago, but neither he, nor Beckett could bring themselves to call it quits when a twelve-year-old boy's killer was sill on the loose. So there they sat, in front of the murder board, Kate sitting cross-legged on the end of her desk, while Castle casually leaned against the adjacent one, arms folded across his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Admittedly, they had lost some of their focus early on—someone, he couldn't remember which one, had suggested getting Chinese takeout (the remnants of which were strewn on the other side of Beckett's desk)—and then he solemnly recalled earlier in the day, during the interview, how the boy's parents, stricken with a lack of what to say, tearfully offered up that _Star Wars_ had been his favorite movie. He almost lost it when they choked up at having to switch the verb tense from "is" to "was." Eventually, it all led to this point in the conversation.

Castle couldn't explain why this was such an important question—it just _was_. Call him crazy, but this was the vetting process the universe used in his life regarding women. His first wife liked _Star Wars_, but thought Chewbacca was a useless character: they got divorced. His second wife, Gina, hated _Star Wars_: they got divorced. Kyra liked _Star Wars,_ but she could never tell the difference between the AT-AT walker and the AT-ST: they split up, but remained civil because it wasn't the biggest _Star Wars_ related faux pas ever. Alexis, on the other hand, loved _Star Wars_ and took up fencing to train as a pseudo Jedi: she was his favorite daughter, and he would lay down his life willingly for her should it ever come to that. Blood relation, aside.

He liked Beckett; he didn't want to have to stop associating with her.

Presently, she gave him a '_well, duh_' look. "Yes," she said slowly, as if she didn't quite understand where he was going with this line of questioning. Then without warning, she smiled. "I used to have the biggest crush on Mark Hamill."

"I still have a man crush on Harrison Ford," Castle admitted unashamed.

Beckett laughed. "That doesn't surprise me." She shifted her attention back to the whiteboard.

_She passes so far_, Castle thought in the silence as a wave of relief washed over him. Knowing her answer, but smiling anyway, he couldn't help asking, "So the chances of you coming into work dressed in Leia's slave costume . . . ?"

"—Are a solid 'never,' Castle," she retorted, another grin slowly showing. "Although, when I went to the midnight showing of _The Phantom Menace_ with Espo, I did dress up as Boba Fett."

A comfortable silence settled over them, grins on both of their faces. Castle, pleased that Beckett could still be his friend, once again began perusing the whiteboard. Something just didn't adde up with the boy's soccer coach's alibi. He made a mental note to read over his statement again at some point.

"Hey, Castle?"

"Hmm?" He casually glanced her way.

"I don't care what Lucas or anyone else says," she admitted. "Han definitely shot at Greedo first. I mean—"

But Castle never found out what she meant because as soon as he heard the words 'Han,' 'shot,' and 'first' coming out of her mouth—the same perfect mouth he was currently devouring—he couldn't keep his hands to himself any longer. Kate Beckett was a goddess among mere mortals; the Chosen One among nerf herders.


End file.
